After the Storm
by clairemarie91
Summary: Isiah confronts Michael about his behavior. Takes place about two weeks after the S3 finale.


rumMichael stumbled into the flat, managing to be the kind of loud that only drunk people trying to be quiet can. Isiah was sitting at the round oak table where they had often shared meals, trying his best to complete the assignment for the accounting class he was taking - the class Michael had made him sign up for. He glared up at his friend and flatmate as he barraged through the door.

"Hey," Michael said, his eyes drifting lazily about the room. "You're up late."

"Yeah, just trying to finish this assignment," Isiah said, staring down at the paper. He didn't really feel like dealing with Michael at this particular moment. Working on the assignment in the low, yellow light of their flat was giving him a headache, and in any case, Michael had been anything but pleasant of late. Engaging with him wasn't worth it.

"You want some help?" Michael slurred, falling into the seat across from Isiah at the table.

Isiah snorted. "I think I'm all right."

"Lemme see it," Michael insisted, reaching across the table clumsily.

Isiah slid the paper out of his reach. "Go to bed, Michael," he said.

"Jesus," Michael replied, looking disgruntled. "Who pissed in your porridge this morning?"

Isiah gave him a blistering look, then began piling up his papers. He'd finish his work in his room.

"Seriously, mate, what's wrong with you?" Michael needled. "Are you mad I didn't invite you out tonight? Because it wasn't like that. I just stopped off for a drink on my way home from work, you know?"

"A drink?" Isiah scoffed. "You're three sheets to the fucking wind, bruv."

"What are you, my mother?" Michael swayed slightly in his seat as he taunted Isiah, and something about Michael's complete idiocy pushed Isiah over the edge. He had been patient long enough.

"No, I'm not your mother, but speaking of Polly-"

"Don't bring up Polly!" Michael cried.

"Your mum, Michael! You're not fucking Tommy. Call her what she is."

"What the fuck are you on about-"

"You know what I'm on about," Isiah said. "Have you even gone to see her?"

"She _chose_ to be in there, Is!" he shouted, spit flying from the corners of his lips. "Tommy said he would get her out and she said no. She said she didn't want his help anymore."

"Oh, and you and Tommy are the same person now, are you?" Isiah challenged. "Fuck off, Michael. She's your mum. She would do anything for you, and you've just abandoned her."

Michael stood unsteadily. "I don't have to listen to this," he said.

Seized by frustration, Isiah stepped toward Michael and pushed him back into the chair. It didn't take much force; Michael's knees seemed to be mostly liquid, but he looked up at Isiah with wide, shocked eyes.

"You know what, Michael?" Isiah said somewhat breathlessly. "You _do_ need to listen to this. Ever since the night Charlie was taken you've been acting like a complete prick. You've pushed me away, you've pushed everyone away, and that's all fine, but Polly is your mother. And I'm not going to watch you treat her like this."

"What does it have to do with you?"

Isiah sputtered for a moment, trying to find the words to express his utter vexation. "You think - if my mum - if she was alive, I would be the first one to bust her out, all right? I would do whatever it took. No matter what Thomas _fucking_ Shelby had to say about it."

"That's some big talk, Isiah," Michael said, raking his hand through his hair.

"You used to be your own man, Michael," Isiah said, boring into the icy gray-blue of his best friend's eyes. "What happened to you?"

Michael stood, more sturdily this time, sobered by the confrontation. "I've grown up," he said, pressing his finger to Isiah's chest. "All right? Tommy knows who I am. Who I _really_ am. She's forcing me to choose between them and she doesn't understand. She's never understood."

"Who are you really, Michael?" Isiah asked, firmly standing his ground. Michael was shifting cagily, as though he wanted to hit him, but Isiah invited him to try. He was done being pushed over. "Why don't you tell me before I get left behind, too?"

Michael's whole body tensed, his lip curling up into a snarl, and Isiah prepared himself to block the coming attack. But he never looked away. He kept Michael's eyes locked in his own - if he was as grown up as he said, he was going to have to face Isiah like a man.

The impact Isiah was expecting never came. Instead, Michael sank back into the chair with his head in his hands, leaving Isiah more confused than if he had hit him.

"Michael?"

Michael's back rose and fell shakily, and Isiah reached out tentatively, splaying his palm across taut muscles.

"Michael, what's wrong?"

"I killed the priest, Is," Michael said, his voice muffled in his hands. "I didn't just kill him, I - I-"

Isiah dropped to a crouch, his hand still on Michael's shoulder, putting himself at his friend's level. "You did what you had to do, Michael," he said softly. "You saved Charlie. Everyone said so."

Michael shook his head vigorously. "I thought it would help," he said weakly. "I thought it would change what happened if I hurt him, if he died feeling… feeling the way he made me feel."

Isiah didn't know what to say. His throat was thick with comforting, useless words that stuck like bread without water.

"But now it's just worse than ever," he said. "I can't stop thinking about it, seeing it in my head. And I know if I see Polly - I know she was right, and if she looks at me…"

"She loves you, Mike," Isiah whispered. "Polly loves you… and so do I."

Michael looked up at long last, his eyes shimmering with tears, his face splotched with red. "How could you, Is?" he asked. "How could anyone?"

"It's all right, Michael," Isiah said, drawing Michael into his arms. "It's all right."

Michael's entire body shuddered with sobs and all Isiah could do was hold him, hoping to absorb some of the pain.

"I've got you." Isiah felt Michael give, burying his head in Isiah's shoulder. Isiah placed his hand firmly on the back of his head, anchoring him. "You're all right." Maybe if he kept repeating it, it would make it true.

Michael pulled away, tilting his head up to look at Isiah. "Don't leave me, Is," he said weakly. "I don't want to be alone."

Isiah kissed his forehead, softly, tentatively. To his surprise, Michael leaned into it, extending the contact.

"I'm not going anywhere," Isiah said. "I promise."


End file.
